


Tonight, Tomorrow

by Fairleigh



Category: Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-11-06 03:10:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17931707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fairleigh/pseuds/Fairleigh
Summary: Her face was small and smooth. Ageless. She could have been thirteen years old or thirty.





	Tonight, Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lucymonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/gifts).



Her face was small and smooth. Ageless. She could have been thirteen years old or thirty.

He knew, however, that looks could be deceiving and that the outward appearance of youth had been bought and paid for. Possibly on several separate occasions. The legendary, enigmatic Mistress of Crimson Dawn was, in fact, old enough to be his mother, and that made her significantly older even than thirty.

“Well? What are you going to do, Ben?” Qi’ra asked.

“I-I don’t know yet. I — ” His words cut off abruptly upon the unheralded arrival of a servant — a lifeform, not a droid — to the bedchamber. Only the wealthiest beings in the galaxy would choose to retain living sentients for purely menial labor, for the practice was expensive, wasteful, regarded as sheer extravagance.

Naturally, Qi’ra knew exactly how it looked, and he had every reason to suspect that there was more to the little human servant boy in the perfectly pressed uniform than met the eye. He remained silent and still while the boy, his poise and manners impeccable, laid out a table of food and refreshments for two. Although the boy didn’t glance in the direction of the bed, not once, or otherwise do anything else to acknowledge any awareness of the presence of his Mistress’s companion, it was better safe than sorry. Only a fool would trust Qi’ra completely, and he did not like to think himself a fool.

Duties dutifully discharged, the boy left the bedchamber as quietly and unobtrusively as he’d entered it. Then they were alone again.

“Well?” Qi’ra prompted.

“I … I can’t go home. I’m certain of that, at least. Mother, she’ll just — but … but _Father_ — ”

Qi’ra emitted a sharp bark of laughter at that. She didn’t need to hear the words; she understood exactly what he meant about his father.

His father, after all, was the reason why Ben Solo had sought out the Mistress of Crimson Dawn in the first place many years ago.

He’d learned about her first from Uncle Lando. A drunken disclosure, ill-considered, that he’d attempted to retract in the sober light of morning. But Ben had known the truth when he’d heard it, and he’d also known that Qi’ra could be a window into the past of a father whose legend blurred fact with fiction, who liked to tell his son he didn’t _have_ a past or a childhood, whose very name “Solo” had been the product of an Imperial Navy recruiter’s attempt at wry wit.

That name, ironically, helped him make contact with one of Crimson Dawn’s many frontsbeings, a meeting in a smoky cantina in the roughest part of Hanna City. The frontsbeing, a tiny human woman with bones Ben could’ve snapped with the merest flick of Force, had been brazen, demanding proof of the sincerity of his intentions, proof that he wasn’t a spy or working on behalf of New Republic security. First, she had said, she wanted reliable information on the defense authorization bills Ben’s mother was debating in closed-door Senate sessions. Ben had provided it. Second, she had wanted reliable information on Jedi Master Luke Skywalker’s sources of weapons-grade kyber crystals — and no, don’t you dare say that he doesn’t have a secret source, or are those pretty laser swords his trainees swan around with just for show? Ben had provided that information as well. And third? She had wanted reliable information on the size of Ben’s cock. Was he as big between the legs as the overall size of his body would suggest?

He was. And his knowledge was one hundred and ten per cent reliable in that particular regard. Firsthand, even. Ben had duly provided the frontsbeing plenty of reliable information on the subject, reliable information in abundance, in fact, in a private, pay-per-hour room above the cantina.

“I may need further convincing of the veracity of your claims,” the frontsbeing had told him after the first time.

Ben had obliged with further extremely reliable information on the subject. He had obliged a full further three times.

It had been after that fourth time, when they were both sweaty, boneless, and pleasantly sore, that the frontsbeing had admitted the truth: _She_ was Qi’ra, the Mistress of Crimson Dawn herself.

By then, of course, the information-sharing had been too, uh, _extensive_ for either of them to do much of anything besides continue their intimate association, so that’s exactly what they did.

Neither Ben nor Qi’ra were particularly sorry about the situation. Why no indeed. Fucking his father’s childhood friend, you ask? Ben was living the dream. Fucking her childhood friend’s only son, you ask? Qi’ra was also living the dream. Some dream, anyway. Or nightmare. What have you. And they kept right on living it — for years — whenever the living got too difficult to live alone.

Like, oh, _now_ , for instance.

“You haven’t told me what happened,” Qi’ra pointed out. “You arrive on my doorstep, out of nowhere, smelling of soot and death. You offer no explanation, but you ask me to hide you. Look, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I would appreciate knowing if I’m in any danger. Who’s coming for you, Ben?”

He flinched; Qi’ra’s words had forced him to focus on the present. He considered their respective positions; Qi’ra had spent her entire life playing all sides against the middle. He shook his head slowly. “You’re not in any danger. No one’s coming. It was … it was Luke — He found out about — and I … I — ”

 _He found out about the First Order, and I destroyed everything he had built. Then I ran away because I couldn’t face him, or my parents, anyone … anyone except_ you _, I mean._ No, he couldn’t say it. He was too ashamed.

But Qi’ra heard the words he couldn’t bring himself to say. She already knew everything about him there was to know anyway. “I see.” She stroked her chin, thoughtful. “Some will seek retribution. You’ll need to take a new name and leave ‘Ben Solo’ behind. I can help with the scandocs, if you wish.”

His eyes were beginning to fill with angry tears. “I-I don’t know — ”

“If you don’t choose for yourself, Snoke will choose for you.” The ageless face was stone, ruthless, hardened by experience.

Hairline cracks were forming in the walls and ceiling of the bedchamber. The plaster was crumbling, raining debris onto the floor. “Y-Yes, I know, but — ” But he was in her bed to forget about the choices which were no longer his to make; he didn’t need to be reminded of those things which could not be avoided.

She seemed to realize this. “Tomorrow, then,” she said coolly. The structural damage to the room did not seem to faze her. “Let’s just enjoy ourselves tonight.”

“Yes,” he agreed, relieved, as his mind quieted and he surrendered himself to the seductions of Qi’ra’s ageless beauty once more.

Tomorrow. He could become Kylo Ren tomorrow.


End file.
